Date: Thu, 16 Jun 2005 16:09:20 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle
Subject: Mistletoe Farm: Aphrodite and Pompey
MISTLETOE FARM
A cautionary tale
Chapter Four: Aphrodite and Pompey
In the early morning hours Simon Simmons untangled himself
from a nest of caramel brown limbs and staggered into the
cool dawn light of Mistletoe Farm. For an instant a shimmer
of thorn trees, savannah, drum beats, and the distant roar
of lions hung in the air, more sensed than perceived, and
then the veil rose to reveal the Blue Ridge foothills of his
Virginia home. He shook his head to clear it and made his
way to the wash house where he cleaned himself thoroughly.
He walked alone back to the main house, his head full of
dreams, then up to his own bedroom where he removed his
clothing and went to bed naked, curled up beneath the cool
sheets, slipping into distant dreams. From Toby and Venus's
cabin, a dark hand which had held a curtain aside withdrew,
a bright eye pulled back from monitoring the scene.
Floating back into consciousness in the late morning,
Simmons looked reflectively at the bright rectangle of his
window, curtains moving with the breeze of high summer. He
felt---he didn't know how he felt. Torn between a world
that was his and a world that was not, and unable to tell
the difference. He rose and dressed, then walked downstairs
and out onto the verandah to greet the day.
Toby had been trimming the boxwoods around the house; he
looked up brightly as his master stood blinking in the
sunlight.
"Mornin' massa! Let me get you some breakfast!" Simon
smiled at him and nodded, then sat in one of the rockers,
surveying the scene. Sights and sounds of activity were
apparent; he marveled again at how his new servants had, in
only a few days, become so involved and invested in running
Mistletoe Farm. He had issued no orders for the day's
activities, yet he could tell that tending of animals and
gardens, washing and cooking, the gathering of firewood,
were proceeding apace. Simmons gratefully acknowledged the
breakfast tray that Toby brought to lay before him across
the arms of the rocking chair.
Simon neared the end of his meal and was sipping coffee when
he noticed out of the corner of his eye two people casually
walking across the lawn, as if going from the separate
kitchen to the vegetable fields. Craning forward to see, it
was apparent they were two black men, and not belonging to
Mistletoe Farm. In his surprise, Simmons cried out "Hallo!
Hey there!" The two men, seeing they had been spotted,
walked at a quicker pace to present themselves at the bottom
of the verandah steps. They bowed and removed the battered
slouch hats they each wore, murmuring "Massa" and "Yes,
massa" as they stood before Simons.
"Who---who are you, where are you from, what is your
business?" he asked them, not really knowing what to say.
As he spoke, he took in their appearance. One was a man who
appeared to be in his thirties, very dark, with an
enormously powerful build. The ragged shirt he wore was
open to the navel in front, and his dark skin stretched
tightly over massive, defined muscles, oval dark nipples
coming in and out of view as the shirt shifted with his
movements. His neck was thick and muscular, his head pear
shaped, crowned with a short cap of dense, kinky hair. His
features were thick but not unpleasant; everything about him
exuded strength, bulk, and masculinity. He stood nearly six
and a half feet tall.
The other man was perhaps twenty and slender, a lithe,
muscular but slender body inside a tobacco colored skin that
shone with the morning light. His head was oval shaped,
perched atop a slender neck. This young man's hair was
tightly curled peppercorns dotted in thick clusters. His
features were almost Asian, high cheekbones and almond eyes
beneath thick, curling lashes, a generous nose but not flat,
above a full rosebud mouth. He spoke first: "I is Rodney,
massa," he said.
"I is Romulus," said his larger friend. "Beggin' yo pardon,
massa, we is from Owlcroft, we is jes' passin' through and
yo' servants gave us some water," he said, nodding toward
the kitchen. At that moment, Pompey came around the corner
of the verandah from the direction of the kitchen. "Yassuh,
massa," Pompey said, a little out of breath in his hurry,
"these is Mist'ess Woodruff's people, from Owlcroft. They
jes' passin' through." He kept his head bowed but
scrutinized his master from the corner of his eye.
Simon's eyes played over the two newcomers' bodies, taking
in their skin tones, facial features, the contours of their
bodies. As moments ticked by the scene seemed to freeze in
time, the three black men waiting, furtively but steadily
watching the white master---while Simon's mind occupied
itself with dark oiled skin, tightly curled hair, out-
turning lips and high, muscular buttocks. Then Simon's gaze
seemed to snap back into focus. He nodded. "Very well,
welcome to Mistletoe Farm," he said, a bit abstractedly.
"You....you are welcome to the water," he murmured. The
three blacks murmured "Yassuh," bowed again, and were off,
each sneaking peeks back at the white man on the porch.
Simon sat a while longer in the sun, seeming to gather
strength and focus. The people of Mistletoe Farm continued
to go here and there, doffing caps or nodding to their
master as they passed the verandah. As time went on, he
finally rose, put on his hat, and set out to walk the
grounds of Mistletoe, observing his servants as they went
about their tasks of their own accord.
Reaching the path behind the row of trees beyond the
vegetable field, Simmons decided to explore it, seeing where
it might lead and which farms it might cross. He turned
left and walked along, noting how well worn it was, weeds
and undergrowth kept down by the frequent passage of feet.
Birds cried in the summer sun and the wind stirred the trees
as he made his way past fields and orchards, the hills of
the Blue Ridge piled up in the near distance on his right.
He had walked no more than a mile or two when he came upon
Titus, coming in his direction. "Massa," said the slave,
doffing his battered hat and bowing slightly.
"Where are you off to, Titus?" Simon asked, stopping in the
path.
"Back to White Springs, Massa," he replied. Simon nodded
and then fell silent, looking up and down at the strong body
of the slave. Then he reached out his hand and squeezed the
strong arm, keeping the grip for a moment. "Very well, have
a safe journey," he said. Titus nodded, but remained where
he was, looking back at the white man intently as Simon
passed along his way down the path. Another mile, and the
path turned to follow the curves of a creek with quickly
moving water. The shade and water brought some relief from
the sun, which was now making the afternoon quite hot. Now
fast moving, now spreading out into deep holes, the creek
meandered among the farmlands. Sometimes Simmons saw a
distant farmhouse on a hill, but for the most part he saw
only cultivated fields, most of them tall with corn planted
earlier that summer.
A distant sound became closer and louder as Simon strolled
along the path by the creek. A murmur, shouts, squeals---he
rounded a bend in the path and heard the unmistakable sounds
of water play on the other side of a wall of tall grass and
underbrush between the path and the creek. Cautiously
Simmons pushed into the head-tall grass, pushing it aside to
discover the source of the shouts and splashes. What he saw
made him catch his breath.
In a deep pool bordered by a clay bank, three feet below the
surface of the path, were perhaps half a dozen girls, naked,
ranging in color from caramel to darkest brown, playing in
the water. Simon quickly withdrew his head and looked to
the left and right, up and down the path. Nobody was
coming; indeed, Titus was the only person he had seen on the
path the whole time he himself had walked it. Parting the
grass, Simon looked back at the entrancing sight just a
little below him.
Slippery as eels, the girls were clearly on holiday from
whatever farm or plantation they belonged to. The youngest,
a couple of nine year olds with bodies like boys, slim and
taut with muscles that would soon develop into curves,
splashed in the shallows on the other side of the pool. A
thirteen and a fourteen year old pair, deep chocolate brown,
treaded water just below Simmons, firm conical breasts just
at water level. Sitting on the far clay bank was a caramel
brown girl of perhaps seventeen, water still glinting in her
bush of jet black curls on her head, and a smaller one in
her groin, her breasts large but high. Higher up on the
bank just below the line of trees and brush was perhaps an
eighteen year old, jet black with moderate breasts in firm,
high cones that ended in pointed nipples, sunning herself,
rubbing water from her shock of braided black hair.
Simmons waited a moment; still nobody else came by, and as
he thought quickly it became clear to him that these girls
were swimming naked here precisely because few people ever
did come by this spot. He had come upon it himself quite by
accident. His heart beat faster and his breath became a
little strained as his eyes slid over first one young beauty
and then another luscious piece of flesh. They had not
detected his approach, nor had they heard the rustling of
the grasses on his side through the sounds of their own
voices. As if in a spell, under a powerful compulsion,
Simmons found a way to step down to the level of the pool
still concealed by grasses. Off the path, he shed his own
clothes quickly and quietly, then, his eyes still fixed on
first this then that girl slave, he pushed through the grass
and stood on the slippery clay verge of the pool.
Time stopped. The two nine year olds stared with open
mouths, seeing their first naked white man, not knowing
whether to laugh or run. The thirteen and fourteen year
olds paddled back against the bank, their arms thrown across
their swelling bosoms; they had enough experience of white
males to know what could happen. The seventeen and eighteen
year old covered their nakedness with their hands and began
to scramble back up the bank as Simon waded into the pool,
looking now here and now there, his reddish organ beginning
to fill and rise. Then---out of the corner of his eye, was
that Rodney, whom he had met earlier in the day, parting the
grass on the other side of the bank? Those delicate Asian
features, it must be him, whispering urgently toward the two
older girls, nodding toward the white man--and then he was
gone. The two girls whispered with each other and then---
wonder of wonders, began to walk back down the clay bank
toward the pool, and toward Simon Simmons. They in turn
gestured quickly and whispered a few words to the other
girls. Each of them looked sharply at Simmons, appraising
him, seeming to make a decision. It happened so quickly
that the white man was not sure he'd seen it. And then he
was up to the two nine year olds who stood mid-thigh deep in
the water, rivulets running down their dark chocolate boyish
bodies, still staring at the white man who was coming up to
them.
Simmons swept up one in his arms and held her, her lithe
dark body limp in his arms. Looking into her dark and
shining eyes, he bent and kissed her, sucking her thick
young lips into his mouth. She gasped but did not push
away. Simmons's mouth moved down her thin neck to her flat
boy's chest, nibbling the dark nipples, licking the water
slick chocolate skin down to her navel. Now she giggled,
and squirmed in his arms. The other nine year old looked up
to her older companions for guidance. They gestured as they
made their own way into the pool. Nodding, the little girl
still in the water grasped the white man's reddish penis
with her thin brown hand, making Simon gasp and look down.
He quickly set down the girl in his arms and pulled both
girls toward him, his hands grasping a pair of thin black
buttocks on each side. The girls giggled and now the second
girl grasped his penis as well, making a game of what had
been an uncertain and possibly dangerous situation.
The white man was so engrossed in the slim chocolate bodies
snuggling up to him, hands slowly pumping his now rampant
cock, that he did not notice the ways in which the two older
girls were gesturing and whispering to their companions,
seeming to direct the action as if at a play. The two
thirteen year olds began skirting the far edge of the pool,
making their way to the far bank near where Simon now stood
in the shallows, entranced, fondling the two boyish girls
who squirmed and slithered against his body, giggling. The
eighteen year old stayed on the bank, completely naked,
watching and appraising. But the seventeen year old
splashed through the water toward Simon and reaching him,
pressed her water slick body against his and laughed softly.
Simon steadied himself in the water and then pushed back,
releasing the two little girls at his side, enveloping the
caramel brown girl in an embrace. His iron rod slid upright
between them, sliding between their wet bodies.
Laughing again, the girl slipped from Simon's embrace and
skipped through the water toward the bank, gesturing to him
to follow. He was right after her. Reaching the bank she
tumbled down onto its wet clay, Simon flinging himself at
her side a moment later. Her firm, high breasts pointed
toward the sky, large conical nipples now swelling. A
fierce energy came on the white man, who seized first one
and then the other breast with his hands, kneading them, and
then flung himself on top of the girl's prostrate body,
sinking both hands into her bush of jet black frizzy hair
while he mashed his lips against her full, reddish brown
mouth. Heaving on top of her body, thrusting his penis up
and down on the skin of her torso, the two wrestled in that
way for a while, panting, murmuring.
Then Simon became aware that the slightly older girl, the
ringleader of the band of nymphs he had discovered, had slid
down onto the ground next two them and was running her hands
up and down their bodies. She inserted her head with its
mop of twisted braids in between brown girl and white man,
kissing both, pressing her own pointed breasts into the dark
body below and the white body on top.
Simon slipped up and off the girl for a moment, parting her
legs, placing the full, plump cockhead of his rampant dick
against her opening. Both their bodies were slick with
water, with the wet clay of the bank, with their natural
flowing juices. The white man pushed his rod into the black
girl in one full stroke. She arched her back and cried out,
but dug her fingernails into his back and pulled him into
her even tighter. Arched over her now, holding himself off
of her with his palms on the bank, he began pumping and
banging wildly, frantically, beyond the bounds of any
natural rhythm. The older girl stayed where she was
alongside the couple but kept sliding her hands up and down
the white flanks of the man and the caramel brown thighs of
the slave girl. Master and slave, wordless until now, began
murmuring and gasping incoherently, both uttering words in
some strange language. On the struggle went. Then the girl
climaxed, shouting out, twisting beneath the man,
shuddering, her hands now flailing out to her side. It made
her vagina contract, and its rhythmic pulsations brought him
to the edge. Crying out as well, he slammed forward,
grinding his loins down into hers as his semen poured down
into the brown slave girl beneath him. Out it poured, and
then the wave that had washed over him passed, and he
collapsed, exhausted, onto her heaving, full breasts.
Simon drifted into a doze for a moment, then back up,
pleasantly, still atop the slave girl whose breath was only
just now returning to normal. He felt a tugging to the
side; it was the older, dark brown girl, pulling him off of
her companion. Over he came to sprawl on the bank, his
penis pulling out of the slave girl with a plop. He lay on
his back, the afternoon sun blinding him, breathing in deep
sighs, aware only of the two warm bodies nestled on either
side. Moments passed, and then the blinding sun was
blocked. Regaining focus, he saw the two thirteen year old
girls hovering over him.
One on each side, they crowded in over him on their hands
and knees. "Massa" each whispered, then bent to kiss his
ears, his forehead and nose, his neck. One offered her full
mouth to his lips while another nuzzled his throat with her
lips and tongue. Their firm but small breasts bobbed just
over him, sometimes grazing his chest or belly. In an
instant his penis began to rise again, arcing up over his
thigh as it traveled toward his torso. Still the thirteen
year olds kissed him, now nibbling his chest and nipples.
Simon brought his hands up to fondle them in return, rubbing
his hands over their rounded but small bottoms, fingers
slippery with muddy clay sliding up and down the ass cracks,
slipping into tight vaginas.
Suddenly he felt his penis engulfed in warmth, his thighs
pressed down upon. Raising his head, he looked beyond the
tobacco brown young bodies that covered his chest to see the
oldest girl lowering herself onto his erect penis. He
pushed his groin up to meet her, and was fully landed in an
instant. Now the girl took over, sitting on her haunches
over his groin, pushing herself up and down while she cupped
her own breasts and looked at the white man whose rod had
impaled her.
At that instant, Simon's world turned dark brown, caramel
brown, tobacco brown, as both the nine year olds and his
earlier sexual conquest flung themselves onto his body as
well. Every part of him was covered with a writhing slave
girl, licking, fondling, biting, offering firm breasts or
flat, dark nipples to be sucked. Faster and faster bounced
the slave girl on his rampant dick, deeper and deeper he
wandered into a world of dark beauty, clouds of tightly
curled black or woven tufts, eyes both bright and dark.
When he came he could hardly push up with the crush of
bodies upon him. He emptied himself up like a geyser this
time, in one tremendous push, and then---and then sank from
consciousness, lost in a deep slumber.
"Massa!" It could have been minutes, it could have been
years. Simon woke with a start. The sun must be setting,
for shadows were long. He lay naked on his back, coated
with streaks of muddy clay. On the far bank, standing where
he once stood at the start of this adventure, was Pompey.
"Massa, you alright? I is come for you, massa," he said.
Simon sat up and looked around. He was alone on the bank
which was wet and roiled as if armies had struggled there.
Thoughts of the afternoon came flooding back, memories---
where had they gone? To whom did they belong? He shook his
head, and looked once again at his own slave, waiting amidst
the grass on the far side. He nodded, rose, and splashed
into the water, rubbing himself until he was clean.
Emerging where he had come in, he wiped himself dry, then
dressed quickly and climbed back up to the path. Pompey had
come down to assist him, wordlessly helping, wiping the
white man's naked body dry with bundles of grass. "Thank
you, Pompey," Simmons muttered. Looking to the left and
right, he took a moment to orient himself. "Mistletoe
thattaway, massa," said Pompey, pointing to the right.
Simon nodded and set off, lost in foreign thoughts, his
slave half a step behind, toward his home in the evening
shadows.
At the point in the path where they turned into the trees
that bordered Mistletoe Farm, Pompey gently took his
master's elbow and steered him in the right direction. But
as they turned, Simmons halted for a moment. A hundred
yards up the path, as he was turning off of it, three dark
shapes stepped onto the path from the Mistletoe grounds and
slipped off farther down the path.
"Wait..... who, those people, there.... who were they?" he
asked, unsure, thinking only that they seemed to be dark
skinned.
"I didn't see nobody, massa," said Pompey quickly, then
tugged at the elbow more urgently. "Come, massa, rest," he
said, and they pushed through the trees, the white man too
tired and wrapped up in his own thoughts to argue. The
slave led his master through the vegetable fields, still
furrowed from the recent planting, and toward the house. On
the porches of the slave quarters and here and there in the
yard were dark skinned people who eyed the two quietly as
they walked up the steps of the verandah. Pausing at the
top, Simmons turned around and brought the yard and
outbuildings into focus. "Were there....how many people
were here when we walked up?" he asked abstractedly. "Have
we visitors?"
"Nah, massa, jes' the Mistletoe people," he replied, and to
tell the truth Simmons could detect nobody who did not
belong there now as he looked closely. Yet it seemed as if
there were more but a moment before. No matter. He was
tired and spent. Pompey took him into the house, there
meeting Toby.
"Come on, massa," said Toby, taking over from Pompey, "I
know you is tired after your afternoon, come on up to bed,"
he said, and led the white man to his room. There he helped
his master to strip, gave him a plate with a light repast on
it which he almost had to feed to him, then lifted his naked
legs into the bed and put out the light. Toby had pulled
the sheet up over his master and was turning to leave when a
white hand reached out to grasp his forearm.
"Toby."
"Yes, massa?"
"Stay a moment. Come.....come to bed. Remove your
clothing, come."
Silently, Toby disrobed, the muscular contours of his slim,
strong body and huge, pendulous penis visible in the ambient
light. He slipped into bed beside his master and waited,
still. The white man snuggled up against him, put an arm
across his smooth, hairless chest, sighed deeply, then
placed his other hand on the short cap of kinky hair atop
the slave's head. Simon placed his own head on the dark,
purple black chest and sighed again, listening to the
lullaby of the strong heartbeat, breathing the clean,
masculine perfume that rose from his satin skin. They lay
like that for a few moments, Toby waiting and quiet, Simon
moving his hands slowly over smooth skin and crisp hair. It
was as Simon was drifting off in the moonlit room that he
thought for a moment: how did Toby know about his
afternoon? What did he mean? But he hadn't the energy to
ask, and slipped into deep dreams in that moment.
Simon awoke alone in the mid morning, this time refreshed.
Reaching for a pocket watch on his bedside table, he
consulted the time. It was later than he thought, later
than it looked. Rising, he walked naked to the window and
looked out. The morning was grey, scudding clouds blocked
the sun and a smell of rain came on the gusty wind.
Dressing, he walked downstairs and straight out to the
privy, then to the wash house where he scrubbed himself
thoroughly. By the time he emerged, rain had begun to fall,
a steady soaking shower, while distant thunder rolled.
Sprinting to the house, he found Toby on the verandah, a
brunch spread on a tray for him. He thanked Toby simply and
then sat, eating, looking at the sheets of rain that moved
vertically through across his view. From where he was
sitting he could see the open barn door and thought he could
see Thorn and Pompey at work there, moving in and out of
four stalls to carry hay to the horses.
He paused. Four stalls? Four horses? They only had three.
He had been glad for the initiative shown by his servants,
but did it include acquiring livestock? Leaning forward he
stared piercingly into the gloom of the barn, but could only
see dark shapes moving back and forth at work. He turned to
ask Toby, but the slave was gone, pursuing his own business.
Finishing his breakfast thoughtfully, he rocked quietly.
Then, as the rain began gusting onto the verandah, he
withdrew, leaving the breakfast things for one servant or
another to remove, and went into the house.
It was a good day to work indoors, which he did happily,
continuing to put the house in order. But for the rest of
the day, he sensed but never quite encountered Toby or any
other slave. Going upstairs he found his bed made and room
cleaned. Coming downstairs after hours of work, he found
the verandah cleared and a good lunch set for him on the
dining room table, but no evidence of a person who had
performed that service. In the late afternoon he lit some
lamps and continued his work, finally ceasing as more of the
household accommodations and arrangement of his personal
papers were to his liking. Still, he remained alone.
Simmons rose and put on an oilskin slicker, then walked out
into the rain. It continued at the same pace, blowing a
steady sheet of water. Reflecting on how beneficial that
would be for the crops, he toured the place. He was hardly
surprised to find nobody in the orchard or vegetable field,
although there were lights in the cabins and some
outbuildings. Simmons stepped to the outdoor kitchen and
entered, enticed by the glow of lamplight from a window.
There he found Rose and Venus.
"Afternoon, massa," they both said, each smiling pleasantly
but keeping their eyes averted. He greeted them as well,
then paused, his thoughts filled with the recent bouts of
passion he had enjoyed with each of them. His eyes wandered
over their bodies, his possessions, his to do with as he
pleased. Venus broke the spell by turning to stir a pot set
on the cast iron stove, and she said to him, "We is makin' a
nice stew massa, you'll have some fo' your supper."
He started from out of his thoughts, then nodded and smiled.
"That would be splendid, Venus. Have you.... have you seen
Toby?"
"He was goin' to feed the stock, massa, then see what you
needed in the big house."
"Ah," he replied. "The stock. Did we.... did someone
acquire another horse?" The two women exchanged a quick
glance. "I dunno, massa," said Rose, "that's for the
menfolk, we jes' do women's work." Venus nodded agreement,
but now both of them maintained a steady if furtive gaze at
the white man.
"Ah.... ah, I see," he said. "Well, I will ask Toby later
when he brings me dinner," he said, and having no further
purpose in staying there, he withdrew.
The rain had picked up, and could properly be called a storm
now. Unwilling to return to the house where he had been
cooped up all day, Simmons decided to walk some more, but he
ended up wandering aimlessly around the grounds. Still,
none of the servants were apparent outdoors. He walked as
far as the orchard, and as he reached the far limit of
Mistletoe the storm increased in intensity. Lightning
cracked and struck nearby, a tremendous boom of thunder
shaking the very ground. The wind whipped the rain above,
blew up his oilskin slicker, soaking his clothes beneath in
an instant. Moving horizontally, the rain seemed to find
every opening in the garment and came through. Aware that
he was drenched, Simmons pushed back against the wind and
made his way toward the buildings of Mistletoe Farm. His
head down, he hardly knew where he was headed exactly, but
then saw dead ahead of him a looming structure. He made out
a lighted window, and a person's figure at the window in the
lamplight. Coming up to the building he realized it was one
of the slave cabins, but he could not make out which. The
night had come by now, brought on early by the storm.
Simmons slipped around the edge of the building until he
found the door. He was about to push it open when it was
opened for him from inside, and so he staggered in. Once
inside, the door was shut behind him and gentle hands began
removing his oilcloth. Wiping the rain from his face and
eyes, he looked around. He was in the cabin of Aphrodite
and Pompey.
The couple stood a few feet from him, eyeing him
appraisingly. They glanced at each other and exchanged a
nod. They approached the dripping wet white man, still
trying to orient himself after the onslaught of the storm.
"Massa, you gotta get outta those wet things," said
Aphrodite, kneeling in front of him. "Let me pull off your
boots."
"Massa, lean on me whilst she pulls the boots off," said
Pompey softly, coming up to his master's side and putting a
muscular arm around the white man's shoulders. Simon nodded
and whispered a thanks. He put an arm around Pompey's thick
shoulders to steady himself as Aphrodite began already to
pull off his wet boots. At that, Pompey turned in a little
toward Simon and put his other arm across his chest to grasp
Simon's other shoulder, almost embracing him. Simon looked
right into Pompey's strong, thick neck, the dark chocolate
skin tones and the short bush of kinky hair. He could feel
the movement of dense muscle beneath the thin layers of
shirt and skin. Aphrodite tugged this way and that and
first one boot and then the next came off. Without asking,
she unfastened Simon's trousers and let them fall around his
ankles, then tugged down his undergarments. At the same
time, Pompey quickly unbuttoned the white man's shirt which
was all he wore over his torso beneath the slicker, and let
that drop to the floor as well. It was Simon's turn to gasp
in surprise, so quickly did it happen, so quickly did he
stand naked before his two slaves.
But that did not last for long. Unbuttoning her own simple
garment, Aphrodite let it fall from her shoulders and stood
up directly in front of Simon Simmons, the dress falling to
the floor to mix with his own clothing, naked in front of
the white man. Her full, taught breasts bobbed a couple of
inches in front of Simon and he gasped again.
Pompey moved back and both white man and black woman stepped
together in an embrace. Simon scarcely noticed as Pompey
stripped off his own clothing. But he was definitely aware
of the strong black man's presence when he felt him press
against his back. The black twenty year old slave was
covering his master's naked back even as the master pulled
'Dite into himself, grasping her firm, wide buttocks with
his hands. Pompey's dick, full and iron hard but not
grotesquely large as was the case for some Africans, now
pressed into his master's ass cheeks. The slave's unusually
large testicles mashed into the white man's upper thighs.
His bush of wiry pubic hair scratched the white man's lower
back. His strong chocolate dark hands grasped his master's
white shoulders and slid up and down the arms, now the sides
and flanks, now around him to grasp Aphrodite and pull the
three together.
In an instant Simon had surrendered himself to the flow of
events, caught up in embraces front and back. Memories of
every slave girl he had ever fucked came flooding back,
while memories of his boyhood slave Brutus welled up in his
mind as Pompey gently but insistently ground into his ass
from behind. Simon began moaning, his breathing coming
heavily now, his own penis pressing hard against the belly
of the slave woman before him.
'Dite broke away from the embrace and, taking her master's
hand, led him a few steps away to the bed. In Bulstrode's
slave market the white man had taken her from behind. This
evening she flung herself on her back, her legs spread and
bent at the knees, and pulled the white man down onto her
face to face. He followed, pushing his iron hard penis
straight up between their bellies as he lay upon her,
mashing her full breasts, squeezing them with his hands,
finding her full lips and kneading them with his own. He
tasted her, fondled her, felt the satin smoothness of her
chocolate dark skin. Then, unable to delay, he pushed up
off of her a little and placed the swollen head of his red
penis at the entrance to her vagina. He pushed, going all
the way in with one motion, while she arched her back and
grunted.
Simon had no sooner landed completely inside the black girl
than he felt his own buttocks being caressed by the strong
dark hands of Pompey. As Simon began his rhythm of gliding
in and out, he felt the black slave's fingers, slickened
with some lubricant, probe his own anus. Simon's slow,
preliminary movements in and out of the black girl in front
created a slow in and out movement of Pompey's fingers in
his bottom. And then Pompey was on him pushing up against
his thighs and buttocks. Simon gasped as he felt the thick
head of Pompey purple black, iron cock press against his
asshole. But the white man was powerless to stop it, caught
up as he was in a dance of lust with these two people he
owned as property. A searing pain tore at his butthole for
an instant as Pompey pushed his way in. Simon fell forward,
still fully inside of 'Dite, as Pompey pushed forward as
well to mash the white man down onto the body of the slave
girl. The three held that position for a moment, physically
locked together. Simon's pain passed and he began slowly,
tentatively, to move his hips back and forth. Pompey
followed his rhythm. 'Dite supported them both.
Soon Simon was riding between two chocolate brown bodies,
sliding on a sheet of sweat from their black bodies and his
white one. Pompey pushed and struggled to stay landed in
the white man's ass even as the white man pounded in and
out, in and out of the slave girl's willing body beneath
him. Hands clutched shoulders, legs and ankles locked
together, fingers ran through cornsilk blonde or frizzy
black hair. Pompey bit the white man's shoulders and neck
as the master bit the slave girls ears and neck. Harder and
faster, harder and faster, murmurs becoming cries, until
Aphrodite cried out and pushed her pelvis up, her
fingernails tearing at the skin of the white man implanted
so tightly within her. Her orgasm clamped and jerked on
Simon's pounding cock, and in an instant his own ecstasy
welled up in his thighs and groin and he roared, arching
downward, shooting his semen into the dark slave girl below.
Feeling his partners' lust, Pompey climaxed as well, pushing
forward in one massive, muscular push, holding steady as his
body pinned the white man between his woman and himself.
His enormous balls emptied themselves into the master's
rectum, a thick and steady flow of semen filling up the
white man's intestines. When he finally went limp, the
weight of his muscular body collapsed downward onto the two
beneath him, all three gasping for breath, heaving with the
aftermath of passion.
The storm raged without while the three went through dances
of passion within. Simon returned the favor to Pompey,
fucking his hard, bulbuous African butt, banging hard into
the muscular cushion, while 'Dite ran her hands over both
men's bodies. Simon took Aphrodite in the rectum from
behind while she crouched over Pompey, lying on his back,
his penis up her cunt, both men feeling each other's hard
cocks sliding through the thin wall of the slave girl's
flesh between. In the middle of the night as the storm
passed, exhaustion overtook them all and they fell asleep,
Simon covered by dark flesh all around him, dreaming of the
dark within.
For three days Simon remained in the cabin, fucking or
sleeping, emerging to use the privy or to wash and then
returning to the rumpled bed where he lay, sometimes
quietly, clutching or rubbing dark skinned flesh, sometimes
thrashing and rutting in mindless passion. Sometimes he
commanded his slaves simply to stand before him, to turn
this way or that, to bend over, as his gaze washed over
their sweat-shined bodies. In this way he made it to the
end of his first week as an owner of slaves.
....to be continued.
comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net